


Crackle

by Atalto



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: A Little More than canon-typical violence, Cuddling & Snuggling, Descriptions of Blood, Electrocution, Established Relationship, Fighting, Happy Shance Day!!!!, Hurt Lance (Voltron), Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Major Character Injury, Prize for Mystic, Romance, Shiro (Voltron) Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Violence, shance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-19
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2019-05-25 15:35:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14980199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atalto/pseuds/Atalto
Summary: He's met with a melancholic hum, Shiro still not meeting his eye. "They went back to the castle, it's just us I'm afraid."Back at the castle?So why is Shiro here? He never remembered Shiro getting hit; the armada they faced wasn't that big. The only reason Lance messed up was-He was showing off. He got hit because he was showing off.Which ended up with him and Shiro in Galra capitivity.Great.(In which Lance and Shiro fight to escape a Galra ship, and it doesn’t turn out as planned)





	Crackle

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mysticmajestic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mysticmajestic/gifts).



> Hello all, and happy Shance day!!!!
> 
> This was written for my bud Mystic on tumblr, as the result of my 200 followers giveaway! I hope this is okay for you bud.
> 
> There’s a bit of violence in this, and some brief descriptions of blood, so stay safe y’all.
> 
> Enjoy!

He wakes up to darkness.

He doesn't know where he was, but it isn't where he last remembered himself. It's dark - too dark - with the edges of his vision tainted with a thick plum purple that seemed to buzz angrily. Whatever he's lying on was hard and uncomfortable - he can feel the edge of his regulator belt digging into his hips, and his neck aches from having been at an angle for so long.

This isn't-

The last thing he remembers was Red's cockpit, and a cold sense of old panic that hasn't quite dissolved into his bloodstream yet. He remembers flashing warning lights, screens on every side detailing damage and proximities, Shiro screaming over his crackling comms-

Shiro.

The Galra flagship had been moving way too fast-

Shiro.

His side flares again as he unconsciously shifts, and a gasp rips from his throat as the edge moves further into his stomach.

 _Shiro_.

Then his vision goes dark again, but suddenly rather than a gradual fade into unconsciousness.

"Sweetheart," a voice says above him, familiar but rough - painfully rough, like he's been screaming or shouting for hours, "Lance, are you with me? Please, say something-"

 _Shiro_.

"Lance, please-" His voice cracks painfully, hiccup echoing around the dark room. "Just say something - anything - I need to know you're with me-"

"Sh'ro," he finally says, moving the arm that wasn't trapped under his body to flop onto Shiro's knees, "'m okay."

Slowly, he tries to move his head up to look at Shiro, but his neck screams in protest as he tries to turn.

"Hey, take it slowly," Shiro instructs, voice cutting through the haze of pain rushing through Lance's ears. A hand appears under his neck, and another on his head, helping to turn him slowly, "It's just whiplash, Sweetheart - can you tell me what that is?"

Whiplash?

"It's m'scle damage," Lance replies, suddenly aware of how wrecked his voice sounds, "just muscle damage."

"Good, right," Shiro confirms, and Lance sees him nod his head once, "think you're ready to come up? It might hurt."

Well, it's now or never.

"Do it."

With a hum, Shiro gradually begins to help him up, no matter how much his neck is screaming in pain. His eyes prick with tears, stinging as they threaten to fall.

Soon, although not soon enough for his liking, he's up off the floor and leaning against the back wall; his arm and fingers tingle where they had been lodged under his middle, and, although his side no longer hurts from his belt, man did his head hurt.

"Takashi?" Lance finally asks, left hand coming up to run through his own sweat-matted hair, "where the hell are we?"

Shiro, who's now eye-level, frowns, dark eyes averting in some unreadable mixture of shame and anger. "Galra capitivity," he says, practically spitting the words, "what do you remember?"

Well, what does he remember?

"I remember Red, I don't know, freaking out?" Lance replies, face twisting in thought, "we got hit by something, and she started failing." He hums, tingling fingers rubbing his face in fatigue. "I vaguely remember nearly hitting a Galra ship, and that's about it. Where are the others?"

He's met with a melancholic hum, Shiro still not meeting his eye. "They went back to the castle, it's just us I'm afraid."

Back at the castle?

So why is Shiro here? He never remembered Shiro getting hit; the armada they faced wasn't that big. The only reason Lance messed up was-

He was showing off. He got hit because he was showing off.

Which ended up with him and Shiro in Galra capitivity.

 _Great_.

"Takashi, I-"

"If you're going to apologise, don't," Shiro interrupts, finally looking at him with a soft smile as a metal hand gently cups his face, "It's gonna' be okay, Lance, don't worry."

"How can you say that?" Lance grumbles, frowning as he leans into Shiro's hand, "we're literally in Galra prison, babe, we're pretty much screwed-"

Shiro just shakes his head, casting a sly glance over to the blurry black mass on the far wall that Lance assumes is a door. "I've been tracking the guards," he explains, standing and offering out a hand to help Lance up, "and they haven't disabled my arm, so we have a weapon."

"That's good," Lance replies flatly, wincing against the headrush that came with standing, "I don't think I'm great with my bayard at the moment."

Shiro frowns, helping him balance with one arm sliding around his waist. "Do you still even have your bayard?"

That's a good question.  
Frowning in focus, Lance reaches his right hand out in front of him, and clenches his fist. The bayards are hard to physically remove from them, but if he was unconscious-

The familiar form of the broadsword appears in his hand, and he instantly tips under the sudden weight.

"Careful," he hears Shiro say, other hand appearing on his side to steady him, "can you put it away until you really need it? You need your strength."

Lance nods, sword disappearing in a blaze of blue light. "Do we know where the lions are?"

"Down in the holding bay, I assume," Shiro replies with a hum.

"And do you know where that is?"

Shiro pauses, hands tightening around Lance's sides. "We're gonna' have to take a lift through the main ship. That's either through the bridge, or through the science chambers."

Lance hums, nodding determinedly.

He isn't gonna' ask how Shiro knows that.

"How long until the guards finish their rota?" He asks, changing the subject quickly and placing his hands over Shiro's.

"They're currently in one," Shiro says, tension dissolving slightly from his voice, "we'll have to wait a bit, but that'll give you time to get your strength back."

With a nod, Lance sinks to the floor against the wall again, careful to keep his back straight, and holds his hands out for Shiro to sit next to him. Once he's down, he shuffles into Shiro's lap, laying his head into the crook of his neck.

Now he's been awake for a while, the room is lighter, less shrouded in darkness; he can see that the floor is concrete-like, with a faint layer of sand on top, and that the walls are a dark purple, nicked and scratched from whoever had been in the cell before them. The light seems to be bleeding in through the door, twisted edges curling up to let in the hall lights.  
The Galra needs to work on their interior design, he thinks, since it's a bit bare for his liking.

"Are you feeling any better?" Shiro asks once Lance is settled, wrapping one arm protectively around Lance's middle, "you looked pretty spacey back there."

"I'm- I'm better now," Lance stumbles, arms settling against Shiro's chest, "head rush, y'know?"

He feels Shiro nod, chin moving against the top of his head. "As long as you're feeling better."

Under his fingers, Lance feels a heartbeat speed against warm skin.

"Are you okay?"

"Fine." The response is immediate, harsh and cut.

That's that then.

Now they just have to

wait.

* * *

 

It's a little while later when Shiro shuffles underneath him, unfolding legs from where Lance had been sitting.  
With a supporting hand, he helps Lance to his feet once he'd clambered off his lap, steadying him with the now-familiar hand on his waist.

"I think they've stopped," he murmurs, creeping to the door and glaring at it like it's going to jump off it's hinges and attack them there and then, "ready? We'll have to be quick once we're out, there won't be much time."

Neon purple illuminates the room, casting long shadows over Shiro's starkly serious face. Lance responds with a smirk, feeling the blaster materialise in his hand.  
"Ready."

Shiro takes straight to the door, cutting through the hinges and stepping back to let Lance shoot out the lock.

"Some holding cell, huh?" Lance says with a laugh, kicking the door once it was securely on the floor, "that really didn't take much!"

Shiro flashes him a grin, stepping out cautiously. "Nice work, Sharpshooter!"

There's footsteps down the corridor.

"Ready to run?"

Of course he's ready.

Shiro takes off in front of him, arm out and poised for action, whilst Lance falls into the slipstream. He angles the blaster over Shiro's shoulder, firing off a shot at a camera in the ceiling.

They bank a corner, and Lance shoots out at the growing wave of sentries behind them.

"Takashi?" He calls, shouts, breathless, "they're gaining on us!"

Another corner. Another straight. Another door sliding open to reveal rooms of soldiers and sentries.

" _Takashi_?"

It's then that Shiro takes a sharp left, reaching out with a hand to pull Lance into a side room.

"The elevator," he breathes, heaving pants shaking his chest, "this is it."

Lance swallows anxiously, pressing to the back wall as the doors slam shut in front of them. "Sure?"

There's a shift underneath them, and a rumble as the elevator moves around them. Shiro grunts, lips pressing into a thin line. "Positive."

They're moving agonisingly slowly.

"Where does spit us out?"

A metal fist clenches loudly in the thick silence, robotic fingers closing with a familiar whirr of machinery. "The science labs," he said, voice strained, "we'll be in and out - the holding bays are on the other side."

In the back of his mind, Red stirs; they must have been completely out, only woken by their sudden proximity. They must have been really damaged.  
There's a flash of hurt, of cold in his gut - this is his fault, after all - but Shiro's hand on his shoulder pulls him out of his thoughts.

"Sweetheart," he says heavily, moving close to Lance, and he can feel Shiro's flesh and blood fingers trembling through his armour, "stay close, okay?"

Lance nods, lacing his fingers with Shiro's other hand. "I've got your back babe, remember?"

Breath hits against his skin as Shiro huffs out a laugh. "Of course," he replies with a shaky grin, "I just-"

"I get it, it's okay," Lance interrupts, squeezing his hand and grinning confidently as the elevator draws to a stop, "in and out, like you said."

Behind Shiro, the doors slide open with a silent movement.

"Showtime," Lance breathes, determined smirk fixing on his face, "let's blow this joint."

The science labs are as expected; bright, eerie, and expansive.  
Lights hang from the ceiling above them, flickering hopelessly and causing sparks to fly from occasional sockets, whilst the bright white tiles of the floor glint and flash in time. In front of him, Shiro tenses, back straightening to a level that Lance didn't quite think was possible, and the prosthetic sang with the familiar burning glow.

The blaster materialises in his hands, foreboding and heavy.

Mercifully, when they step out, the science labs are barren. Equipment and experiments lies discarded on sterile benches, almost scarily so. Like someone had pressed a button and every worker has ditched without warning. The damage, however, looks recent, scratches and scorch marks lining the walls and ceiling.

"Takashi, this doesn't feel right-" he starts, aware that Shiro is jogging on ahead of him; they can see the hold access door in front of them, Black's purple particle barrier shining in the darkness.

"I know," Shiro snaps shortly, not even turning, "but we need to-"

Above them, the lights flicker.

Once.

Twice.

The hold access door slams shut.

"No!" Shiro runs up, slamming a glowing fist into the metal. "No, please, open up!"

The labs feel cold all of a sudden; a chill worms its way up Lance's back, sudden and quick, freezing his entire body as he watches Shiro hopelessly attempt to break the door open.

He hears something clack behind them, something hitting against the tiled floor, but he can't bring himself to turn-

"Welcome back, _Paladins_."

That voice is in _his head_.

The voice sounds like static, like several people talking at one, like pain and an ache behind his ear drums. He sucks in the breath, holding it in the heavy silence, grip around the handle of the blaster like concrete.

In front of him, Shiro screams.

Screams loudly, angrily, loud enough that Lance can physically hear the strain of already-beaten vocal chords in the cry. He crumples to the ground, arm deactivating as he whips his hands over his ears, letting the faint smell of singed hair and flesh fill the room.

"Takashi," Lance cried, finally releasing his breath and letting the bayard disappear as he runs over to Shiro at the door. His entire body is trembling, hands clamped over his head, and Lance is pretty sure those are teardrops on the floor. He crouches next to him looking for an injury, blood, anything.

Footsteps echo behind him, a painful staccato in the silence of the room.

He isn't going to turn around, he doesn't want to turn around. Not when Shiro needs him, not when Shiro is like this-

"Lance, please-" Shiro whimpers again, cutting himself off to heave a shuddering breath. His hands clamp tighter over his ears as he shakes his head wildly. "No, _no_."

Behind him, the footsteps stop. Whoever is here is in the centre of the lab, watching them from a distance like some kind of creep.

The blaster forms in his hand, hanging limply towards the ground. If he's quick - and accurate - he'd be able to get a good shot in at whoever was behind. They can't be good news, judging by Shiro's reaction, and the element of surprise is always a good one to have.

He flings his arm around, blaster jamming into his upper arm as the shot sails over the shoulder of a Druid.

They must be a druid, from the long ripped robes to the crackling electricity flashing around their long fingertips.  
But this one doesn't have a mask, purple skin glowing from red markings and yellow eyes under the hood like headlights, and is smirking coldly, confidently.

This must be the witch, the Altean that married Zarkon, the head druid, the-

"What other names to you have for me, paladin?" She asks, calmly, cruelly, and Lance feels something like steel settle into his bones, "because I'm sure I've heard them all before."

Haggar is in his head.

There is a sudden movement behind him, Shiro knocking into his leg. His first aim is now to get them - Shiro - out of there.

"Let him go," he snarls, squaring his feet as he pulls the blaster up to aim.

The witch hums, almost in consideration. "Tell me, Paladin," she drawls, almost excruciatingly slowly, "why should I give up something that's rightfully mine?"

With that, she cackles, just like Lance always assumed a stereotypical witch would, before launching a purple lighting bolt at Lance.  
He twists, narrowly dodging the bolt as it slams into the back wall.

"Shiro doesn't belong to anyone!" Lance shouts back, firing off another shot, and another, and another as the gun slams into his shoulder over and over again, "so let us go!"

Another lightning bolt licks against the wall, and before Lance can look up the Witch is rushing towards him.  
Blaster changes to sword before he can flinch, and her talon-like fingers connect with the blade.

Then his back is slammed up against the wall, blade inches from his neck as the Witch presses the blade inward. She's stronger than she looks, leathery hands wrapping around the sharp edge like it was nothing.

He hears Shiro suck in a breath somewhere below him, and he remembers who he's protecting here.

He pushes back with a cry, swinging the blade up to throw the Witch off, a box step brings him forwards, and she flies backwards with a flash of sharp, bared teeth.

"Hey, Shiro?" He says through gritted teeth, firing a volley of shots into the space where the Witch once was, "how are you feeling?"

Shiro grunts in reply, eyes now glassy and unfocused, and he slams a hand on the door to focus himself.

"Think you can stand? I have a plan."

Which is partially true. He does have an idea, but it's less a plan and more a death sentence unless he can pull it off.

It's as Shiro's struggling to his feet that he realises he's taken his eyes off the Witch, and all he knows is pain.

White and purple flash before his eyes as fire splits through his body, setting an inferno in his veins, under his skin, in each and every muscle, that _hurts_. He's aware of Shiro's voice through the sizzling static in his ears, and then it's over, as soon as it came.

The ringing in his ears still remains though, and he pushes himself up on trembling legs to face the Witch in the centre of the room. At some point, Shiro stood as well; he's leaning on the join between the doors heavily, as if his sheer weight could break them apart.

Another bolt nearly connects with his leg, missing him by so little he can feel the hairs on his legs stand up as the rifle, long and weightless, appears in his grip.

The Witch laughs again, and something in Lance's mind says it's weird her mouth hasn't started moving yet.

He takes aim at the far wall, and fires off a blank shot before running to stand in front of the access panel. Hopefully, this should-

"Get ready to run, Takashi!"

The Witch is suddenly in his face, and a strong fist secures itself around his throat. His feet are dangling, toes skimming the floor, and it's getting hard to breathe.

"A fine specimen," she hisses, so close to Lance's face he can feel the rush of her breath on his skin, "tell me why I shouldn't take you both rather than just reclaiming my champion."

His vision is starting to tunnel.

He tries to form the blade in his hand, but the bayard is knocked to the floor before it can finish.

"I wouldn't do that, if I were you," she whispers, so softly it scares him, and Lance sucks in a breath in the split-second that she changes her hand position.

From here, he can feel the electricity in her free hand rippling through the air. The hairs on his legs stand on end despite the flight suit, and what's left of his darkening vision fills with purple-

Then it's gone, and he's dropped to the floor, gasping for breath like a fish out of water.

When he looks up, he sees Shiro finally, finally standing, and the prosthetic is-

It's through the Witch.

The familiar glow is flecked with a dull liquid, dripping off his fingertips and forming a small puddle on the floor. Shiro's face is unreadable, arm casting dark shadows on his face, but there's a glint in steely eyes that tells Lance this isn't the first time he's done this.

He scrabbles for the Bayard, letting the blaster form as he lifts it to potshot between her eyes. It's childish, almost feeling like a kid at a carnival, but it gives him a sense of relief that he can't quite place.

Once the Witch has stopped moving, he retracts his arm with a quick movement, letting her evaporate into a rather underwhelming dust cloud; Lance was expecting an explosion, a light show, something, but instead he gets a stifling silence as Shiro looks in his direction but not at him.

"She'll be back," he says, voice as apathetic as his face, "we need to go, now."

As Lance disintegrates his bayard, Shiro slams his bloodied arm into the access panel, and the doors shudder open. Red is quiet in his head; just when he needs the noise, the distraction, they clam up. Typical.

Shiro doesn't look him in the eye again, and he boards Black without saying another word.

* * *

 

The flight back is awkward.

Lance is full of nervous energy, and he knows it; the adrenaline of the fight is wearing off and he hurts. The muscles in his neck ache with each movement, and his side where the lightning connected is painful to the touch, but all he wants to do is talk.

He wants to move about, run laps around the cockpit, talk about the weather, anything except sit in silence.

Shiro, however, seems intent on doing just that.

In fact, he doesn't talk again until they're nearing the castle, issuing a command for Coran to open the hangar doors for them. It's almost jarring to hear his voice, but he's silent again almost immediately.

The castle is quiet when Lance finally stumbles out of Red with a grunt as his side flares in pain. Shiro's nowhere to be seen once he makes it to Black's hangar, but there's a trail of bloody drips leading to the main elevator.

His vision's swirling again.

Shiro's probably retreated to the bowels of the castle again, like he does whenever this kind of thing happens. It breaks Lance's heart that Shiro doesn't want him to help, but he understands that he doesn't understand.  
Looks like he's gonna' be alone tonight.

"Sweetheart," he hears behind him, and he attempts to spin on his foot before the world decides to spin for him. It's definitely - probably - Shiro, but the voice sounds like it's calling through swamp water.

When his vision finally focuses, he can see Coran straight in front of him, mouth moving at a million miles an hour but nothing's really computing. Over his shoulder, he can just about make out Shiro's face, apathy replaced by a deep concern.

Now feels like a good time to pass out.

* * *

 

Lance is cold when he wakes up.

He's also falling forwards, which would be disconcerting if he wasn't used to it by now.

It's a warm pair of arms that he eventually falls into, but they're too thin for his liking, not the familiar muscle and cold metal that he was subconsciously hoping for.

"Quiznak you're heavy," comes a squawk from his landing mat, and his eyes flutter open to see Pidge. Her face is red with effort as she tries to keep him upright, and it's kind of hilarious.

"You love me really," he replies with a tired grin, bending his knees to balance properly on his feet, "sorry for landing on you."

Once he's stable, he notices the room is pretty much silent apart from them. "Where is everyone?" He asks, glancing up around the room, just incase Keith is nestled in the ceiling or something.

Pidge sighs and scuffs her feet awkwardly against the floor. "You kinda' weren't supposed to be awake yet," she explains hesitantly, fiddling with the cuff of her jumper, "Hunk's still cooking in preparation for your supposed wake-up time, Allura's doin' diplomacy with a local planet, and Keith and Shiro are taking their worries out on the training droids."

There's a flash of worry across her face, before she shakes her head violently. "How are you feeling?"

"Honestly?" He says with a groan, rubbing his now painless neck, "awful."

Pidge grimaces. "You didn't look too hot when you got back," she says, eyes falling, "you had this giant, glowing thing on your side, and you practically screamed when anyone tried to move it. Coran had to knock you out completely just for Shiro to carry you to the medbay."

Lance nods, and opens his mouth to answer before a yawn rips from his lungs.  
"Aw, Crow," he curses under his breath, "I might go take a nap - can you wake me up when Hunk's done?"

Pidge nods hurriedly, moving to duck under his arm and support him. "I'll tell the others where you are," she says with a smile, and Lance feels a swell of affection for her in his chest, "feel better soon, Lance, it's too quiet without you."

She leaves him in his room, and lets the door shut with a reassuring smile.

He's alone.

Sure, it's not dark - not like it was in the Galra cell - but it's pretty unnerving to be so alone all of a sudden. His pyjamas are folded on the bed next to Shiro's, and his heart pangs with a sadness he can't quite place. Shiro always folds their pyjamas every morning, without fail, but the grey pair hasn't been moved since they woke up the morning of the mission.

So Shiro hasn't been sleeping without him.

He strips off his clothes, practically ripping the clinging medical suit off his body, and shaking the pyjamas out to slip them on. It's a nice juxtaposition - the soft material is heavenly compared to the chafing bodysuit - but it doesn't help the sinking feeling that's already made its home in his chest.

He's about to get into bed when there's a hesitant knock at the door. However, it's familiar; it's the rhythm he used to knock on Shiro's door back at the start of their relationship, back when it was reduced to loving glances over the dinner table and sneaking into each other's rooms at night once they were sure everyone was asleep.

"Takashi?" He replies, softly but loud enough to be heard through the door, "you can come in, y'know, this is your room too."

There's a pause, elongated and thick, before the door finally slides open. Sure enough, it's Shiro, stood awkwardly in the doorway like he's desperately trying to make himself smaller.  
"I heard you were awake," he says lamely, not looking up to meet Lance's eye, "can I-?"

Lance runs over, taking Shiro's hands in his own to lead him into the room, and ignores the way he flinches.

"I missed you," he says brightly, falling backwards on the bed and holding his arms out in invitation, "Pidge said you were wrecking the training deck - everything okay?"

"I should be asking you that," Shiro replies, folding his arms behind his back, "are you feeling better?"

Everything about him currently suggests leader; his arms are folded like he's back at the Garrison, his voice is flat, and all eye contact is forced. There is nothing to suggest boyfriend, not the loving, careful Shiro he's used to.

"Takashi," he repeats, softer, quieter, and he sees Shiro tense in front of him, "I'm fine dude - meanwhile, you're more strung up than a violin bow."

Shiro's shifts his weight from foot to foot. "I-"

"If it's about the mission, I'm sorry," Lance says quickly, leaning back on the bed, "I know, I know, it was mostly my fault, but it came out alright - I'm just worried about you-"

"Lance-"

"Like you totally froze up out there," he continues, "and I'm worried, y'know?"

"Lance, please-" Shiro starts before Lance can start again, "this wasn't your fault."

"But it was, right?" Lance asks with a shrug, "I was showing off in the fight, and got hit."

"You weren't showing off, for _fucks sake_ , listen," Shiro interrupts, and Lance is taken back by the stubbornness in his voice, "you got hit because you were covering me, you got caught because I wasn't fast enough to retrieve you, you got hurt by Haggar because I wasn't able to-"

"I'm gonna' have to stop you right there." Lance stands up with a grunt, placing his hands gently on Shiro's biceps, "you know I'd do anything for you. That includes throwing myself in front of ion canons and evil Galran witches apparently."

"But I-" Shiro stutters, and takes a deep breath; Lance hasn't seen him this shaken up since Sendak got launched from the holding bays, "I should've done something more."

"Shiro, you can't help these things," Lance says with a gentle sigh, "whatever that Witch-bitch did to you wasn't your fault."

Finally, finally, Shiro looks up at him. "You were so hurt," he murmurs, unfolding his arms out to wrap them around Lance's middle, "I couldn't let her hurt you further."

Shiro's hand brushes over his side, and he tries to hide how much it twinges to the touch.

"It'll scar," Shiro says absentmindedly, and Lance realises he never actually looked at it.

"I'll wear it with honour," Lance replies with a laugh, finally daring to press a kiss to the edge of Shiro's jaw. It's stubbly and rough - Lance was out for longer than he thought.  
"Can I ask why you froze up?" He asks tentatively, and Shiro leans his head on Lance's shoulder.

"I heard her," he replies, voice muffled, "and I saw her, and I'm back in the arena."

That's all that needs to be said, apparently.

"C'mon," Lance says, breaking the embrace to drag Shiro over to the bed, "I'm tired, nap with me?"

"I don't think I'll be able to sleep," Shiro admits honestly with a sheepish smile, "but I'll happily cuddle you whilst you do."

Lance grins, collapsing backwards on the bed. "That's a plan."

Shiro practically pulls off his armour until he's stood in the centre of the room in the flight suit, looking around unsurely before Lance hums expectantly. Eventually, he follows Lance onto the bed, wrapping him up in strong arms as he relaxes into the pillows. Shiro's hands knowingly stay away from the scar, slipping up his sleep-shirt and tracing shapes into smooth skin.

"I love you," Lance whispered, pressing a kiss into his collarbone, melting into the gentle touch, "I'm sorry."

"Stop apologising," Shiro chastises with a hum, "if anything I should be apologising to you."

Lance laughs, kind of sadly if he stops to think about it. "How about we just both stop apologising?" He offers, and for the first time that night, he feels Shiro smile, "this wasn't exactly a one man thing anyway."

It's almost glorious when Shiro finally links their hands together, and Lance brings them up to rest between their chests.

"You look exhausted," Lance says, struggling to keep his own eyes open, "sleep, Takashi, Pidge's gonna' wake us up for dinner."

Shiro grunts, but settles into the pillows anyway. "Fine," he grumbles, and Lance watches as his eyes flutter shut, "but wake me if you need anything, okay?"

"Of course," Lance replies, and soon he can feel Shiro's breathing deepen and his hand slackens where it's still joined with Lance's.

Maybe now he can rest, he thinks, as Shiro's gentle snores fill the room, and his body relaxes in the hold.

If just for a little bit.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope this was okay for y’all
> 
> <3


End file.
